Last Name
by michi1207
Summary: A rash decision leaves two people wondering whether or not they made the right choice.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Pretty Boy. How was your vacation?"

Dr. Spencer Reid merely glared up at Derek Morgan through his dark sunglasses and retorted dryly, "I don't think my personal life is of your business."

"Calm down, kid," Morgan grinned, sitting on the edge of Reid's desk. "Just tryin' to talk to a friend."

"Sorry, I'm just…not up to much conversation today."

Morgan took a closer look at his young friend. His eyes were bloodshot behind the shades, and his forehead was crinkled tight – whether in worry or confusion, who besides Reid knew? The brown hair that was always in neat disarray was now a plain disheveled mess; rumpled clothes hung off his lanky form. And the trash bin beside the desk contained a minimum of five Styrofoam cups, freshly-emptied of coffee.

"Reid? What happened? Wait, don't tell me. You got all wild over in Vegas?"

"I'm just really hungover, alright, Morgan? Please drop it. Please. Would you stop being so damn loud? I just told you I'm hungover!" he hissed as his friend laughed, the sound hitting Reid's ears as if it were a hammer to his brain.

A familiar, inquisitive voice broke in, "What? Our resident genius got drunk over the weekend?"

"Shut up, for Christ's sake, would ya, Prentiss?"

The three others who were entering the bullpen stopped in their tracks and stared at the young man. He had never snapped at any of them before. Well, minus the time he was having extreme withdrawals from Dilaudid a few years back. Unfortunately, the team remembered those days vividly, and that's where their minds jumped when they heard his outburst.

"What's going on here?" Aaron Hotchner probed, a dark eyebrow raised.

"Reid here got plastered while he was on vacation."

As the subject in question trained angry eyes on Emily, Hotch barely suppressed his sigh of relief. "Looks like JJ's got a case. Let's go."

"Morgan?"

"Yea, Pretty Boy?"

Reid waited until everyone else was well beyond earshot before he continued in a small voice, "There's something else I never said about, um, my time away."

"What's that?"

"I, um, well…" He held up his left hand, showing off the plain silver band on his fourth finger guiltily, "I got married."


	2. Chapter 2

Derek stared at the man he considered his younger brother, before regaining his senses and telling him, "We'll talk about this later."

The two headed into the war room and found their seats. The day was going to be long; about that, Spencer Reid had no doubt.

::::

"So, when can we meet your wife?"

"Well…um…when I do. Again, I mean. I mean, when _**I**_ meet her again."

"You don't _remember_ who you married?"

"No! If you remember correctly, I told you I got drunk."

"How drunk _were_ you, Reid?"

He leaned his head against the back of the seat and strained to recall. "I honestly have no clue. Apparently, I was inebriated to the point where even my eidetic memory couldn't save my ass."

"Wow, Kid. I take it you don't drink a whole lot?"

"Never. I mean, the occasional beer now and then, when you all drag me out to the bar after a case, but…never more than that."

"Well, I hate to tell you, but if you wanna meet your woman again, you're gonna have to get one special person involved."

"No. No. Not Garcia. Come on, Morgan, please, not her. I'll never live this down," Reid pleaded childishly, as Morgan bit back a grin.

"Do you want to see your wife?"

"Keep it down!" the younger one all but yelped, staring around the jet at his fellow passengers. "And at this rate, I'm not entirely sure."

Morgan nodded and put his earbuds in his ears; Reid stared out the small window at the land zooming past, yet seemingly remaining still, below them. No matter how hard he worked his brain to bring up images of the woman (_Oh, please tell me it was a woman_, he thought weakly) he'd married, he just couldn't. And he wasn't so sure he liked this feeling.

**!:!:!:!:!**

"What the Hell do you mean you got _married_?"

Atrin closed her eyes against the screech of her best friend through the bathroom door. "I told you, I got way past drunk, woke up still half trashed, went into the bathroom, and when I came out, he was gone. And now, lookie here. I've got this rock on my finger, and no recollection as to how it got there."

"And you hadn't bothered waiting around for your husband to wake up, so that you two could _talk_?"

"Mist, please, just leave it. I had to throw up. I _couldn't_ wait."

"Well, do you remember anything else from that night, after you got to the hotel?"

"If you are asking if I remember having _sex_ with him, then you are three million miles past stoned!"

"So that's a no?" Mistie laughed as she leaned against the door frame, peeling at the paint on the old door.

"I'm giving you to the count of three," growled Atrin, "to get the Hell away from me, before I come out there and sew your damn mouth shut. If you don't mind, I've got to get ready for work."

She glanced in the mirror and cringed. She still looked like Hell had frozen over. Her milk-chocolate eyes had deep circles underneath, and her long mahogany hair had been chopped and streaked with auburn – though it looked professionally done. With a sigh, she pulled her makeup bag toward her and got busy trying to rectify the paleness of her flesh and signs of obvious sleep deprivation.


	3. Chapter 3

Atrin groaned and glanced down at her appointment book. Her next client was well-known to everyone in the industry: She had already gone through seven wedding planners, and if her streak was anything to go by, The Perfect Plan was not going to be the last. As if the woman had been summoned telepathically, Ms Louise Barker, soon to be Mrs Alan Reno, breezed through the glass-front door and slapped her purse onto Atrin's desk.

"Miss Borta-"

"Call me Atrin, please."

"Fine. Atrin. I do hope you'll be able to help me. I saw what you did with the Lucas' wedding, and I just loved it. Could you do something like that for me?"

"Of course! Let me grab my notebook so we can get started."

!:!:!:!:!

Spencer leaned against the cool glass in the hotel room late that night. Morgan was already asleep in the bed across the room, his snores rebounding off the walls; that very sound was usually what kept the young doctor awake at night while they were away on cases, but tonight, it was an entirely different reason. Spencer was starting to get extremely frustrated – no, pissed off – at himself for not being able to remember the woman to whom he'd said vows. Maybe his friend had been right. Maybe Garcia did need to become involved. With a sigh, he shoved off of the sliding door and walked into the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, he recalled the morning he'd woken up, seemingly alone in a Las Vegas motel bed, no evidence of the night before – minus the ring he wore on his left hand and a pounding head.

_The room was in utter disarray. His T-shirt hung over the lampshade, and his shoes had been kicked precariously across the room. The alarm clock on the table read 12:13 p.m. As he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his vision swam; he collapsed back onto his stomach on the firm mattress. He snaked a hand below the blankets and felt for any sign that he'd gone to bed with someone. He let out a quick breath of relief when he felt his boxers still clothing his nether-region. But where were his pants?_

_Ignoring the protest of his aching head, he quickly dressed and slid his feet into his Converses; he grabbed his bag, opened the door, and strode down the hallway toward the lobby. After checking out and paying his tab, he hurried out into the bright light. The sun agitated his migraine even more. He groaned loudly and shoved his sunglasses over his eyes. He had to get back home and to work. Hopefully, no one asked how his vacation went. Because honestly, Doctor Spencer Reid, the BAU's resident genius with an IQ of 187, three PH.D.s, and an eidetic memory, could not tell them truthfully that he remembered much of the time he spent in his hometown._


	4. Chapter 4

"Man, you have _got_ to get some sleep."

Spencer glared at Morgan and poured sugar into his coffee. It had been a month since he had told his friend of his marriage to a woman he hadn't known nor could he remember. He exhaled roughly. Why was he even dwelling on this mystery woman? It's not like the union meant anything. He would just go before a Vegas judge and get it annulled. Simple. Besides, it's not like she was bothering to recall anything anyway. It would be best to just let sleeping dogs lie.

!:!:!:!:!:!

Mistie was seriously starting to grate on her very last nerve. She had floated around the house, throwing knowing glances in Atrin's direction, nonchalantly searching Vegas court records for any marriages filed, and asking prodding questions in hopes to stimulate some sort of memory. All it was getting Atrin was a severe addiction to coffee to counteract the nights she spent awake in bed. All she wanted to do was place all of this behind her. The man surely wasn't interested in drudging up a misplaced memory; why should she?

:::::

"Atrin-"

"Stop before you bug me. Ask yourself three questions. 'Is this about Vegas? Will it piss Atrin off? Do I really wanna bring up Vegas and piss off my very sleep-deprived best friend?' If the first two are 'yes' and the last 'no,' I suggest walking away. I'm not having this conversation anymore. I'm done."

"Fine."

As Mistie stalked off, Atrin dropped her head to her desk. Though she knew she had to get started pulling things together for Ms. Barker's upcoming nuptials, she really couldn't gather the strength, nor the care, needed to plan. Calling it a day early sounded like a splendid idea; going home, crawling into bed, shutting off her mind, and sleeping, well, that was heaven to her ears. Unfortunately, it was nine in the morning, Mistie would pester her if she went home eight hours before the office closed, shutting off her mind would be extremely difficult, and getting any amount of sleep had proven to be damn near impossible over the last month. With a steadying deep breath, she pulled her notebook close and began making phone calls.

!:!:!:!:!:!

Hotch stared through his office window to the bullpen below. His team sat at their desks, filling out paperwork, occasionally glancing at one another to speak. His eyes trained on the youngest member, and he could feel the concern in his gut rising to the surface. Something was bothering Spencer; it appeared that only Morgan had any idea what was causing such agitation. He sighed and walked to his desk. He knew as well as the rest of the team, if not beter, to not push the young man into talking if he wasn't ready.

Spencer bit his lip and picked up his cell phone. After two rings and relaying his request to the person on the other end, he waited for the one he wanted – no, _needed_ – to talk to, to come on the line.

"Hello?"

With a rattling breath to steady his nerves, he replied softly, "Hey, Mom."


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Baby Girl."

Penelope Garcia gave Morgan her usual smug grin and quirked an eyebrow. "Well, well. I knew it was a matter of time before you came to beg the Goddess to give you what you want."

"Do me a favour, please."

"Of course."

"Search all records of marriage licenses in the Vegas area on the night or early morning of the seventeenth."

"Um, alright? You do realise Vegas has an enormous nuptial turnover, right?"

"No questions. Just do it."

"I love when you get all bossy," she quipped as she turned to her computers.

"And Garcie," stated he, stopping at the door, "keep this between us."

**::::**

Three days later, the Tech analyst barreled into the bullpen with a file between her fingers. Everybody watched as she made a beeline toward Derek Morgan's desk. He smiled and took the manila folder; she whispered breathlessly the contents. His face clouded for a moment before suddenly, he smirked widely and stood to kiss Garcia's forehead. She pranced toward her 'lair', while he sauntered two desks over.

"What?" Reid questioned, his voice dry and emotionless.

"Read these, Pretty Boy."

His brown eyes jerked to meet his friend's gaze. "You got _Garcia_ involved?"

"I just gave her the parameters. She has no idea why. I promise."

"Why?"

"Because, you don't want others knowing, but I know you, Reid. You wanna know who she is."

"What happened to not profiling your friends?"

"How is it profiling if I know you almost better than you know yourself?"

With that, Derek Morgan walked away, leaving Spencer to stare after him, shocked into silence.

**!:!:!:!:!:!**

That evening, Spencer unlocked his apartment door, dropped his keys on the table right inside the entrance hall, and kicked his Converses off his feet. The lava lamp his elderly neighbour had bought him for his last birthday, claiming her own grandson had one (regardless of the fact Dwayne was almost a decade younger than himself), set out a small, bouncing light from the living room. He plopped down on the couch and opened his leather satchel. The manila folder nested inside, between a battered copy of _A Christmas Carol _and an equally dishevelled notebook in which he had hastily scribbled down whatever tidbits of memories floated back into his mind. He flipped open the file, and his mind immediately took in the long list of names on the papers. None of them rang a bell – until he reached the middle of the fifth page. There in black, bolded print, **Spencer Reid **popped out and slapped him in the face. And across the dotted line not even two inches away from his name, was the name of his wife.

**!:!:!:!:!:!**

Atrin grinned up at the woman holding her up as she stumbled along the street. She'd had a particularly bad day with Ms. Barker's attitude and holier-than-thou perspective; though she needed the money to keep the business afloat, she had no doubt that if she continued with the Devil's own spawn as a client, she would send the woman straight to Hell where she belonged!

Mistie, on the other hand, was not cracking a smile to save anybody's life. Her friend had gotten impossibly and irresponsibly drunk – the same circumstances that had gotten her hitched to a stranger. She tugged Atrin to her feet once again, before sighing in defeat and hailing a cab. Once the driver stopped outside their two-bedroom condo, she paid, half-carried/half-dragged her best friend inside, and let her drop onto her mattress. The clock read well after two a.m. by the time she crawled beneath her own sheets.

**::::**

"What the _Hell _happened last night?" grumbled Atrin as she cradled her head in her hands.

"Apparently, you played 'Take a Shot Every Time Someone Said Hi to You' and lost. I had to come get you, 'cos the bartender wouldn't let you leave without a designated driver. So… here you are." Taking a sip of her coffee, Mistie smiled, "And according to multiple people, you kept ranting about how you got married, and your husband doesn't even care or want to see you."

"_**No.**_."

"Yep. I didn't know you cared so much about a stranger."

"I just…it bugs me that I've succumbed to every Vegas cliché I'd ever heard about. Honestly, who the Hell goes to Vegas and _doesn't_ get married?"

"I didn't."

"Shut up."

"In all seriousness, Ay, I did you a favour. Call it a wedding gift."

"What?"

"I hired someone who can help you find your husband."


	6. Chapter 6

Unfortunately for him, Spencer Reid had no chance to find his wife due to the team being called out on a case. Thoughts of her plagued his mind at night while he was trying to sleep, during downtime when they could do nothing but wait, especially whenever he saw a particularly attractive woman (he hoped that even drunk, he had standards enough not to marry the first woman he saw). Morgan always wanted to say something when Reid's eyes took on that faraway, glazed look; he knew exactly what his friend was thinking. The young doctor couldn't get the woman off his mind, even though all he knew of her was her name . **Atrin L. Borta. **

Back at his lonely apartment - when did it ever feel so desolate? - he would stare at the name in the file Garcia had compiled, wishing he could remember the colour of her hair, if her eyes sparkled when she would look at him, the scent of her skin. Anything to make her seem more human than the eleven letters beside his own moniker. His eidetic memory did nothing to serve him, and his hopes were consistently dashed with each day and night that passed. He would finally crawl beneath the dark blue duvet on his bed after hours of poring over the name, racking his brain for any sign that he had met and married a real person. Every morning, he awakened to an empty room, empty arms, and the same plain empty air around him. The crème walls, once so familiar, had become dull and routine; and that's exactly what his life was becoming - a habitual pattern of activities. He was beginning to feel like he was a prisoner of himself. Of his own existence. Only one way would it cease.

**::::**

"Reid? Is something wrong?"

Spencer paced his living room, wearing a circle around his glass-top coffee table. "No. But, um, Garcie, we need to talk. Can you, um…can you come over?"

Without question, the Technical Analyst appeared outside his door within the half-hour. On her face was a worried expression she tried not to let show, and in her arms was, unsurprisingly, her 'baby.' She hardly ever went anywhere without that small laptop. She perched awkwardly on the black leather couch and gazed around the small apartment. Her brightly-coloured clothes appeared so out of place in the neutrals of the furniture and walls. _Oh, frack_, she thought to herself as she felt her IQ drop once she caught sight of the bookshelves lining the wall furthest from her. Knowing Reid, the books were non-fiction - and most likely _not_ in English.

"What's up, my sweet Genius?"

"Do you remember when - Actually, I should start of asking you to _please_ keep this a secret, even under extreme duress and harsh interrogation?" Once she nodded her assent, he continued, "Do you remember when Morgan asked you to pull marriage licenses in Las Vegas for the seventeenth of last month?"

"Yep, sure do. It took me three days to get all of them gathered up. Yeesh, that city needs to clean up their records methods. I'm sorry; go on."

"Well…he asked as an unknowing favour for me."

**::::**

By the time he had told her everything, Penelope Garcia looked as if she was channelling a Venus fly trap with the way her jaw hung to the floor. The clock above the desk in the corner read quarter of eleven, but all exhaustion was gone from her body. She was in utter shock. Since when had the resident youngster had such a rebellious, wild streak in him? It was so not…Reid to do something so rash. She cleared her throat, leaned forward, and coughed slightly once more.

"So…let me get this straight. You did something so not you, a.k.a., drinking until you blacked out, got married, and now want me to find your wife?"

"Please? I just…it's basically killing me to not know on whose hand I slipped a wedding band. Marriage isn't something I ever thought about taking lightly, and I'm not about to start now all because it was a drunken wedding."

"Alright. On one condition: when I find her for you, and I _will_ find her, I have to meet the new Mrs. Reid first. Got it?"

"Anything. Thank you so much."

And for the first time in what felt like years, he slept peacefully that night.

**!:!:!:!:!**

Atrin stared down at the photo paper-clipped to the inside cover of the folder and grimaced. _That_ was the man with whom she'd exchanged vows? No offence to the guy, but he didn't exactly look her age - or her type, for that matter. When she began reading the typed information, it was all she could do to stifle her gasp. She had married an _FBI agent_! She hardly protested when Mistie pulled the file away and allowed herself the privilege of absorbing the man's life details.

"Well, at least we have an address, Ay."

"I don't care! God! What the Hell was I _thinking_, marrying that…that…_**him**_?"

Mistie rolled her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with him. Quit being superficial. I'm sure there was something about him that made you feel marrying him was a brilliant idea."

"There wasn't anything about _him._ It was the alcohol!"

With that, her best friend rose to her feet and started singing "Blame It" by Jamie Foxx as she walked away toward the bathroom. Atrin could hear the song even while the shower ran, while Mistie blow-dried her hair, while she put on makeup, and even when she headed out the door. She knew then, that this was something Mistie would never let her live down. She reread the address before shoving the file into the trash bin under the counter. Maybe if she didn't think about it, then it would all just go away.

Little did she know, but Atrin Leanne Borta was far from relieving herself of the memories.


	7. Chapter 7

Atrin glared up at her best friend who was currently bouncing on the edge of her bed. "What do you want?"

"Come watch a movie with me!"

"Mistie, it's -" She stole a quick glance at her cell phone display, "-one in the morning. I need sleep. I'm tired."

"Oh, poo on you. You can sleep in, since you have tomorrow off anyway. Remember? 'I just need a break, because it is just _so_ difficult planning a wedding, even though you're doing all the work, and I'm going to reap the benefits, so I'll be at the spa for the next thirty-six hours,'" mocked Mistie, and Atrin had to laugh at the almost-correct imitation of the finicky bride-to-be; Louise Barker certainly was the epitome of a Bridezilla.

Ironically, it was Mistie who had fallen asleep first on the couch, not even halfway into their second movie. Atrin let out a soft chuckle, headed to the kitchen, and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Her throat was parched from singing along to _Grease _with her best friend. She filled the cup with her pineapple-orange juice. As she stared out at the city lights along the darkened horizon, her mind was assaulted with memories she thought she'd never recover.

_She leaned against him as they walked along the sidewalk, mindlessly manoeuvring around the onslaught of people. His smile was intoxicating, and she couldn't help but laugh as he rambled on about statistics on gambling. Though high intelligences normally turned her off, it was inexplicably different and endearing when it came to this young man. Her body tingled when he wrapped his arm around her back; she had never been attracted to anyone like this, not this swiftly. The lights of the strip reflected in his warm eyes, and the chocolate orbs sparkled, deepened to profundities that should be humanly impossible - and illegal, she'd have to guess by the way her body reacted to the sight. She could feel his gaze intensifying, yet softening, and he hooked her chin with his finger. She lost all rational thought then; his lips were soft, insistent, tender…amazing on hers. The others surrounding them disappeared once she let herself become spellbound by his kiss. _

Atrin shook her head and glanced around the kitchen. Once she realised Mistie was still snoring on the couch, she pulled open the cabinet hiding the trash bin. She plucked the file from the top of the pile with nimble fingers and scurried down the hall to her bedroom. The lamp from the bedside table spread just enough glow to illuminate the pages inside; she stared down at the man she'd married, and slowly, she could see in his image all the attributes and qualities she had once admired to the point of giving her reason to exchange vows with him.

**!:!:!:!**

Spencer's phone rang on the coffee table, and he sighed as he placed his book down on the couch. Quickly giving his greeting, he cringed at the ear-splitting screech only one person in the entire universe was capable of emitting. He barely caught the caller's words before the line went dead. His lips quirked upwards in a grim smile before he headed into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Penelope Garcia shoved her way past him after he opened the front door fifteen minutes later. "So, you and I need to talk."

"Did you find her?"

"Questions, questions. Wait a minute, boy genius, while I relax."

"Garcia, honestly, I don't think I can wait very much longer for answer. It's been fifty-eight days since I got married."

"Ya know," she quipped, gazing up at him through her glasses, her brown eyes sparkling, "it's still so hinky hearing you say you're _married_. Who knew Dr. Spencer Reid would be married at the tender age of 27?"

"On average-" he started before she stopped him with "Love you, Reid, but please, no stats. I've got something more intriguing about our girl."

He gazed down at the photograph, quickly scanning over the information. His eyes drank in every detail the simple picture could offer, but it was hardly as satisfying as realising his own mind held more.

_He pulled her closer to him on the queen-sized mattress and watched her flinch as the bucket of pigs' blood splashed upon the unsuspecting victim. She had sworn she'd never seen _Carrie_; therefore, Spencer felt it was his duty to have her watch such a classic horror movie. Besides, she felt wonderful in his arms - like she was made to fit just for him. He vaguely wondered if this was what it was like for Hotch when he'd met Haley, like nothing could happen to ruin the amazing sensations flowing steadily through his body. She glanced up at him, and he couldn't control it. He had to taste her kiss again. It may have just been the alcohol, or it could have been love. At that moment, for once, the BAU's personal genius had no clue as to what was happening. Then again, he didn't really care. All he knew was he had no desire for the night to end. _


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks had gone by, and before she knew it, Atrin was finally relieved of the new Mrs. Alan Reno. The wedding had sailed by with only one minor glitch: The ring bearer had thrown a fit over having to be in front of the entire church. She had caught one glimpse of Louise's eyes swiftly filling with tears and rushed to subdue the little boy with promises of an ice cream sundae after the ceremony. Fifteen dollars was a bit high, but it was worth it so as not to have to deal with the hysterics of the former Bridezilla.

Mistie raised her glass and cleared her throat. "Here's to a highly successful matrimony. May God have mercy on that poor groom's soul!"

Atrin couldn't help but laugh at the statement, and she took a hearty draft of the Long Island iced tea. Her nerves had been tested to the max by the latest wedding. Through it all, however, her mind had continuously supplied her with snippets of memories from that fateful night in Las Vegas. How had something started as a mini-vacation from the daily routine turned into such an enigmatic adventure? Mistie gave her an appraising look, as if she were able to read her best friend's mind.

"Look, I know you don't want to talk about it right now, but do you remember that PI I hired to find your husband?"

"Yea?"

"Well…he found him."

**!:!:!:!**

He stepped into the restaurant and waited for the rest of the team to file inside behind him. They were all worn out; this last case had taken its toll on each member - Hotch the hardest, due to his own son waiting back at home for him. An unsub had been kidnapping young children for years, training them to torture others, teaching them the sexually-sadistic ways of her own, until they hit puberty. Then…she'd set the younger ones against the elders with threats of ending their lives if they didn't accomplish the goal. A woman of fifty-one had not been caught during her thirty-year-long reign of terror, and it still disgusted them all whenever they recalled the number of killings done in her name - and by her hand - along with the pile of half-decomposed skeletons beneath her dilapidated home.

Spencer shuddered involuntarily and quickly shut down that portion of his brain. He didn't need to be recalling that information directly before eating the first decent meal they'd had in over a week. Rossi led them to a large booth in the back and they gratefully spilled themselves onto the vinyl-covered benches. After placing the large order with the waitress, he gazed around at the few other patrons. An elderly couple sat at a two-seater holding hands; only three places away was a toddler and his mother; she was smiling and laughing, but even at this distance, he could tell by the slump of her shoulders that her life was taking a toll on her weary body. Closer to the group of six were two young women of mid-twenties. The blonde was blocking his view of the other. He'd hoped…

His thoughts were interrupted by the food being placed on the table before them. Everybody grabbed his or her respective plates and immediately began devouring the meals. No talk was passed between them. They were too content and concentrated on eating as if they hadn't seen any sign of sustenance in years. Swiftly, the platters were cleaned, and he offered to pay the tab while the others started the process of forcing themselves into the SUV for one last trip to the airstrip. He quickly forked over the money and headed outside; his walk, though, turned to a slow jog, and he skidded to a stop in front of Hotch.

"Um…Hotch, I hate to ask this, but…can I, uh, can I catch up with you guys later? Please."

"An hour, Reid. We've got to get back to Quantico."

"Yea, I know. Thanks, so much."

He halted inside the door, his courage faltering momentarily, but he braced himself and strode confidently - or, rather, as confidently as possible, given the circumstances - to his destination. The woman's eyes lifted to his and widened once he cleared his throat softly.

"Um…excuse me. Are you by any chance Atrin Borta?"


	9. Chapter 9

Those eyes were so familiar. She swallowed and dropped her gaze to the table. A flash of silver caught her attention. _A wedding band_. She mutely nodded; what good would it do to deny it?

"Is there any possible chance we could talk?"

Mistie stared between them, obviously piecing the situation together. "Um, how about I meet you back at the house?"

She rushed off before Atrin could stop her. The man sat in the deserted seat, cleared his throat, and let out a deep breath. Silence reigned. She could have slapped herself at not knowing what to say. Then again, how was she to know what to say to the man she'd married under extreme inebriation, over two months previous?

"So, um…it's nice to see you again."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her words sharper than she had intended.

"We, uh, had a case here, actually. We just wrapped it up earlier this evening. I have to leave soon, but I was hoping we could actually discuss our…um, well…"

"You mean, our 'marriage,' if it can be called that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look. I honestly don't know you. You don't know me. What could possibly make you think we had a shot at this?"

"It sounds like you're giving up before we even really get started."

"Save the bullshit. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't go before a judge and get an annulment."

"One, we can't. Neither of us has lived in Nevada for at least six weeks. Two, there obviously was something between us. I can guarantee I don't get married every day."

"Yea, well, neither do I." She sighed and mentally cursed herself for getting herself into this position. "So what do you suggest we do?"

"How about…we give this a try?"

"If you expect me to just run off half-cocked and _live_ with you, leaving behind my entire life and business, then you've got another thing coming. I can't do that. I _won't_ do that."

She glared – or rather, tried to glare – when he started laughing softly; the sound was really quite pleasant, and it took away that haunted look in his eyes. He held up a hand and recomposed himself.

"That's not what I'm suggesting or expecting at all. What I'm saying is perhaps we should try to get to know each other first and figure out where we're going from there."

She couldn't deny his logic. "Alright. Fine. I've gotta go, anyway. If you give me your number, I can give you a call sometime this week."

Fifteen minutes later, they exited the building and parted ways. She sat in her car, watching him walk to the cab that was waiting for him, and her face split into a grin. She hadn't expected to change her mind about the marriage. But maybe, just _maybe_, it wouldn't hurt to attempt this.

**!:!:!:!**

He laid his head on his pillow and smiled widely. He had been able to see her defences falling before him. And the scowl she had on her face when he'd chuckled at her misconceptions of his plans… The expression wasn't quite pulled off due to the small light of mirth in her own milk-chocolate irises. Exhaustion had crept into his bones on the jet home, but now that he had time to think of that woman, he felt himself grow eager while looking forward to her phone call. He couldn't help himself; he started scrutinising everything that could happen – or even go wrong. He wished he wasn't so analytical, especially at a time like this.

**::::**

The next night was interesting, to say the least. They had all decided to meet up since the previous night had been spent in silence. He walked into the bar-and-grill they usually congregated and quickly found them in the booth off to the right – the perfect distance from the front door to make a hasty getaway, but still close enough to both the bar and the restrooms. It was obvious by the look on Garcia's face that she was disappointed that Spencer was on the end of the table furthest from her; that observation was proven by the sudden vibration from his cell phone in his pocket.

_**So? **_

_**No idea what you mean.**_

_**SPENCER WILLIAM REID, YOU BETTER GIVE ME DEETS!**_

He laughed to himself, sending back, _**I think I'll keep this is as my own little secret.**_

_**I. Will. RUIN. You!**_

_**Come over tonight – we'll talk then! **_

She settled back into Morgan's arm appearing rather satisfied, and if the smug grin he wore on his own face was any indication, Dr. Reid was finally happy to have something so monumental to share – and someone else to whom he could actually "give the deets."


	10. Chapter 10

Penelope Garcia clapped her hands excitedly as she sat on his couch later that night, and Spencer set his cup of coffee on the table in front of them. With a laugh, he relaxed beside her and linked his fingers behind his head. He was determined to hold this out as long as possible, no matter how hard she begged and pleaded and threatened to 'ruin him.'

"Spencer," she groaned, dragging out the 'r' sound, "please tell me! I need to know!"

"Fine, fine! She, uh, actually agreed to try to work this out."

"No way!"

He rubbed his ear at the loud screech she omitted at his statement. "Yes, way. She said that she'd give me a call sometime this week to figure out some stuff. "

"Oh, my God, that's great! When can I meet her? I mean, I _do_ get to meet her, right? Reid, you promised!"

"I never said you couldn't! I just don't know yet. I haven't even gotten the chance to talk to her about even so much as visiting. I'll let you know, though."

"Do you want this to work out?"

For once during this whole ordeal, she had asked an incredibly serious and deep question. He sighed and stared into the coffee mug; he was conflicted. A part of him felt that if he actually tried, it would only be due to his lack of being able to break vows. _But if you _don't_ try,_ his brain screamed, _you'll never forgive yourself for both breaking those vows and letting go of something that could have turned out beautifully._ Another low breath forced an escape from his lungs, and he stared up into Garcia's brown eyes.

"I don't know."

**!:!:!:!**

Atrin grinned grimly at the napkin on which ten digits had been scrawled. With a sigh, she picked up the phone and dialled. He answered on the fifth ring, sounding both confused and slightly annoyed. She didn't know how to react to the gruffness of his voice.

"Um…Spencer? It's Atrin."

"Hi. _Oh. Hi!_ How are you?"

"I'm alright. I was just, um, calling to see how you were. I told you I would."

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied softly, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't. But I'm glad you did. God, this sounds so weird saying, but tell me about you. I mean, we're married, but I don't know much about you besides your name, age, what you look like, and the time you watched _Carrie_ with me was the first time you'd ever seen it."

"Well, not much to tell," she laughed, "but if you insist… I was born in Indiana, moved to Boston to live with my grandmother when I was seventeen. She needed help in her old age, so I did what I had to. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't given her the assistance she needed. I ended up going to Boston University, and I got my MBA from there. Then, I started my own little wedding planning business, called The Perfect Plan. About a year and a half ago, Granny died, so I kinda lost myself in my work. I don't think I had a day off since the day after her funeral, till I went to Vegas. Now, here I am, talking to you, wondering what the Hell my life has come to. What about you?"

"I grew up in Las Vegas with my mom. She was a 15th century literature professor. I joined the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit when I was twenty-one."

"Is that…all?" she prodded after a pause.

"For now. I don't know. I just…I feel weird, talking about myself."

She understood what he meant and said as much. Smiling, Atrin relaxed into the couch cushion, muted the television, and listened to him ramble about some odds and random statistics – exactly what she'd fallen for over two months ago. She'd had to end the call eventually, after realising it was now past one in the morning. He promised to call her whenever he had the chance; she had accepted the offer but hadn't put forth much effort into believing it. She had a feeling he would end up seeing the entire situation as a gargantuan mistake and push for a divorce. When this thought crossed her mind, she didn't know how to feel. She crawled between her sheets and stared at the dark ceiling.

**::::**

Mistie wiggled her eyebrows early the next morning as the two sat at the kitchen table. Atrin hardly glanced up from the Sudoku puzzle she was doing, further frustrating her best friend. Finally, the former set her coffee mug on the table determinedly and slid the paper from beneath Atrin's pen.

"Talk to me."

"About?"

"I know you called him last night. I know it. I kinda…uh…tried listening in."

"Why would you do something like that?"

"Because I wanted to know. What did you talk about?"

Atrin sighed, knowing she'd never get away with not answering. "Honestly, I lost track of everything we'd talked about. It was just…oddly easy talking to him. Even though he was essentially a stranger."

"Good." Mistie nodded and rose to her feet. "I've gotta get to work. I suggest you do the same. Maybe you can talk to your boyfriend – I mean, husband – again today."

She squeaked when the flying pen slammed into the back of her head as she headed toward her room.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been a month since Spencer had began talking to Atrin, and each day, the feeling in his gut, the one that said '_Think about this, do you really enjoy being married to someone you never see, or are you beginning to regret this?_', grew. They talked for at least two hours every night; if they didn't have time to stop and hold a vocal conversation, then text messages would suffice to hold them over for the next twenty-four hours. He had felt the proverbial butterflies in his stomach during the first two weeks after having met her – again, but now, he wasn't so sure. Telling Garcia of his mixed emotions seemed out of the question. She would be more heartbroken about it, about knowing her little genius was debating throwing away his first (and possibly only) marriage, than he would.

He sighed and threw the book down onto the coffee table. It had lain open in his lap for well over an hour, but his brain hadn't quite computed any of the words. His cell phone rested on the counter in the kitchen, charging from having forgotten his own charger while they were away on a case and only being able to charge it with Morgan's for a couple hours a day – how the Hell did phone companies expect their customers to utilise the devices if they wouldn't hold charge for long?

The devil on his left shoulder, the one who wanted to torture him, to drag him through a drawn-out relationship that hardly would go anywhere, whispered in his ear, "_Call her. Put your mind at ease. Just send her a text, keep your foot in the door. If you bug her enough, maybe she'll actually love you."_

However, "_Don't. You'll only hurt yourself in the end. You will be made a fool – as if you hadn't had enough of that growing up? Don't give in; don't cause yourself unnecessary pain,_" the rational one, the angel on his right, pleaded.

It only took twenty minutes for him to make up his mind.

**!:!:!:!:!**

Atrin groaned and glared at her cell phone, as if it was the device's fault that her hu- Spencer hadn't called or texted. After a few moments of silence, she picked up the phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the name for which she was looking. The first time gained no answer, nor did the second call. Finally, on the third dial-out, she heard,

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

His voice was more emotionless than she'd have liked, when he replied, "Oh, hi."

"Is everything alright? We usually talk every day, but…today, we haven't."

"Yea, everything's fine."

"Spencer…"

"Look, Atrin, maybe you were right. Maybe this won't go anywhere. Maybe it's best to just cut our losses and walk away."

"Wait a damn minute. _You_ _convinced_ me to take a chance, to see if we could try to work this out. And now _you_'re backing out? What the Hell, Spencer?"

"You were right. I've got to go. I have work early in the morning. I'll be contacting you soon to work out the…paperwork."

"'_Paperwork_?' What _paperwork_?"

"I want a divorce."

**::::**

Mistie slammed the bottle of Jack on the table and gaped at her friend. "You're _serious_?"

"Yep. We're gonna be null-and-void sometime in the near future."

"But…why?"

"Who knows?" She sighed. "Don't you have work?"

"I can call off for you."

"No. Go. I'll be fine."

On her way to grab her bag and slip on her shoes, Mistie noticed the small touchscreen cell phone that Atrin practically worshipped. She didn't even feel a twinge of guilt from going through the contacts list. Something had to be done.

**::::**

Atrin's head dropped back onto the tile floor, and she feebly reached for the glass flagon a few feet away. She knew she shouldn't continue drinking; the acidic taste in her mouth, the burning in her throat, and the tumultuous rolling in her stomach all screamed that warning. But she had to feel something other than the numb pain in her chest. Anything. Even if it would eventually warrant a trip to the E.R. from alcohol poisoning. How could this have happened? She'd finally opened up to the idea of being married – though it was to someone who was essentially a stranger. Then, that door had slammed shut in her face and sent her plummeting onto her ass. With a heavy sigh, she stumbled to her feet, clutched the bottle to her chest, and careened her way to the couch. She had never been a frequent drinker, but tonight just might have been the push in the opposite direction that she did _**not**_ necessarily need. And it was all that blasted Spencer Reid's fault.


	12. Chapter 12

Atrin grumbled as she all but pouted in the backseat beside Mistie. She had no idea what her best friend was planning, dragging her out of the house that morning. Unfortunately for her, she had become dependent on the alcohol to douse her pain – or at least numb it for a bit. Why was she hurting so much? _She _had been the one who hadn't wanted to move ahead with knowing the man, instead only wanting to file for an annulment or divorce at the quickest convenience. _He_ had convinced her to try. Now he was the one who changed his mind. But so had she. She had just changed it to something that he said he no longer desired.

When she realised Mistie wasn't going to give her any clues as to where they were headed, she sighed and stared out the window. She was still upset with the other woman for having forced her to watch as the liquor made its escape down the kitchen drain. Mistie had given her a serious, dark look and said, "It's better this way; you're throwing yourself into an addiction, and you need to stop." Consequently, Atrin hadn't slept well at all that night. The cabbie stopped the taxi outside a car rental building, and Mistie forked over the fare and pushed Atrin out the door. Thirty minutes later, they were both buckled into a vehicle and pulling out of the lot. Atrin closed her eyes, rested her head against the window, and closed her eyes.

**!:!:!:!**

_CRACK!_

Spencer staggered backwards from the force of a very, _very_ irate Penelope Garcia's slap across the face. She barrelled her way into the apartment and slammed the door shut behind her. He had barely regained his footing when she turned on him again, a manicured hand raised in the air. His poor face stung like Hell ten minutes later; she had delivered four more smacks to his cheek before finally calming down long enough to sit on the couch.

"How _dare_ you?" she hissed venomously.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are _not_ divorcing that woman."

"How the Hell did you know that?"

"Well, you should really start clearing out your Internet history."

"You _hacked_ into my computer?"

"Don't even act surprised. What were you thinking, Reid? You were such a damn advocate for this marriage to work. And now, you're going to pull this shit?"

He was shocked – Garcia never swore, so when she did, someone did something wrong. Very wrong. "Look, Garcie…"

"Shut up. I'm not done talking. You either tell me straight up why you're suddenly uninterested, or I will ruin you, and this time I'm _not_ joking."

Slowly, he began to explain his thought process over the whole situation, and the wild expression in his friend's eyes dissipated in fractions. She shook her head at the end of his tale and slapped her hands to her thighs. He gazed at her warily.

"You know what you have to do, right?"

"What?"

"You have to explain this to her. You have to make it right. Do you honestly want to try?"

"I don't know!" cried he exasperatedly. "I mean, it'd be _nice_ to have someone to come home to, but I don't want to be with her purely out of convenience."

"Spencer, I don't think it'd be out of convenience. You wouldn't have done all that persuading if it had been. And you sure as Hell wouldn't be sitting here looking so damn guilty at breaking her heart."

"How do you know it's not me feeling guilty that I broke my vows?" he snapped, immediately regretting it as the fire flashed in Garcia's eyes once more. "Look, I appreciate you caring –"

"Oh, Hell no. I don't give a rat's ass about you right now, genius boy. I care about that girl whose heart you just blew to pieces. She didn't deserve that. And _you_ need to…"

Her shrieking rant was cut short by a timid knock on the door; with Garcia's eyes on his back (he could almost feel the impatience and anger burning a hole right through him), he strode to the entryway. The faces on the other side, however, were definitely not a pair he would have ever imagined showing up on his doorstep at any time of day or night.

**!:!:!:!**

It was as if time had slowed to disproportionate rates. One second, Mistie was telling her to "stop bitching." Next thing Atrin knew, his face was appearing from behind the white door. Her heart stopped beating for a moment, and her breath hitched in her throat. _This can't be happening._ Suddenly, she did the only thing she could think of doing.

She ran.


	13. Chapter 13

Atrin slowed to a stop halfway down the block. Angry tears were pouring down her face by the time she collapsed to the curb. How the Hell could Mistie do this to her? Hadn't she had enough torment? She blew her bangs from her face and wiped violently at her face. The cool air bit at her wet cheeks, but she hardly felt it. Her emotions were running too near the surface. She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she'd been set up – especially by the woman she considered a best friend for the past twelve years.

"Hey, you're Atrin, right?"

Her eyes snapped up to the woman standing beside her in four-inch heels. "Yea. Who are you?"

"I'm your new faerie godmother."

"I don't need a faerie godmother."

"Trust me, angelfish, with that genius, you'll need _more_ than a faerie godmother." She paused. "Come back on in. We need to all sit down and talk."

"No," protested Atrin, "it's obvious he wants nothing to do with me."

"Yea, right," she snorted inelegantly.

"He made it perfectly clear when he filed the damn papers."

Suddenly, she was hauled to her feet and wrapped in a tight hug. "Oh, you poor gumdrop. Just come back. I'll make sure he keeps his toes on _his_ side of the line."

Atrin sighed but followed the woman – whose name had yet to be revealed to her – back to the apartment. She knew her self-proclaimed 'faerie godmother' would have it no other way. She took a steadying breath, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. Mistie gave her an appraising look – a look Atrin studiously ignored as she stared down at her feet. She could feel everybody's eyes on her; hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to the man she'd married and was about to divorce, if he had his way. She inwardly groaned when she realised he was studying her. Her voice shook as she voiced the question that had been weighing heavily on her mind.

"Why?"

**!:!:!:!**

Spencer was taken aback by the simple word, though he knew it was, to her, anything but a mere three-letter word. And he couldn't break her heart again. Not with Garcia that close. He stepped forward and held out a hand.

"I think we need to talk. In private."

Nobody missed the dark, threatening glare the voluptuous blonde shot his way, her brown eyes sparking behind her glasses. Atrin paused before finally trailing him to a room at the far end of the hall. He shut the door behind them, gestured to one cushion of the loveseat sofa, and sat on the opposite end. She perched on the edge; oh, how the symbolism portrayed her emotions so clearly…

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For doing that. I never meant to hurt you. I honestly didn't."

"Then why the Hell did you do it?"

He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "I don't know. I guess I just didn't want to feel like we were only doing this because we _had_ to, ya know?"

"Yea, I do. That was my initial reasoning. But _you_ were the one who talked me out of saying 'no.' _You_ were the one who made me feel like I should give this a try. _You_. You are the reason I was still around."

"I… I didn't realise…"

She didn't reply; he stared at the floor and waited for her to say something…_anything._ He felt like a jackass for being so damn clueless. Hesitantly, he reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of her hand. She remained still. A shot of relief flooded through his body, and he took it as a sign to scoot closer. When she still didn't pull away, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her body tensed, and she quickly brushed away a lock of hair from her eyes.

"Look, I should probably get home. I have work in the morning."

"No. Please, don't go."

"I'll…uh, I'll talk to you later."

**!:!:!:!**

If looks could have killed a person, then Mistie would have been a hundred different degrees of six-feet-under. Atrin had immediately voiced her opinions on how annoyed and hurt she felt after being so blatantly betrayed the way she'd been. And Mistie had the gall to not deny anything, instead reiterating that it _needed_ to happen. She had spent an hour trying to convince Atrin that her intentions had been nothing less than honourable and understandable. However, Atrin couldn't see it.

"Ay, come on. Stop giving me the death glare. I did what I had to."

"No, Mistie Noelle. What you _had _to do was stay the Hell out of my business. I didn't need you meddling in what doesn't pertain to you."

"No? Really? _No?_ If I remember correctly, _you_ were trying to drink yourself into a stupor. What was I supposed to do, Atrin? Watch you practically kill yourself because of a guy who obviously wants to be with you but made a mistake?"

"Shut up. Just shut up. I'm going to bed."

"C'mon, Atrin. Atrin!"

"Listen up, Mistie," she hissed vehemently, spinning to face her friend, "I am so done. With everything. Just drop it. Leave me alone. I'm not dealing with this shit."

**!:!:!:!**

Spencer laid awake in his bed, his cell phone in his hand, open to a new text. But what could he say? _I'm sorry I screwed up_? Blowing out his breath angrily, he shoved his fist against his forehead and cursed out loud. He wished, at that moment, that he'd had Morgan's suave manner when it came to women; maybe, just maybe, then he wouldn't be in bed, in the middle of the night, wanting desperately to talk to a woman who most likely would no longer give him the time of day, let alone the rest of her life. He rolled over onto his side and stared out the window to the street-lamp that filtered in through his blinds. What was he supposed to do?

_**Please talk to me. I'm sorry.. I really am. Can we please talk this out?**_

He got no reply – as he expected. He typed out a quick message to Garcia before tossing his phone onto his go bag across the room, closing his eyes, and willing himself into sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

_Can we please talk this out?...I'm sorry…Can we please talk this out?..._

Atrin sighed and threw her phone at the wall, hoping to clear her brain. That son of a bitch was still in her mind, was still burrowing himself so deep into her every thought, was still plaguing her dreams at night. She'd never known before this kind of hurt. So of course it didn't make sense that, even two weeks later, she could be pining over something that was so obviously not hers to begin with. Mistie had steered clear of her – something that was clear to both of them, was in the older woman's best interests. Though she was only three years older and four inches taller, Mistie knew Atrin's temper. She knew what the latter was capable of.

Suddenly, as if a match was struck beneath her ass, Atrin hopped up, hurried over to the clothes hamper, and dug through the clothing until she found her cell phone – and the battery cover. Her mind raced. She was going about this all wrong. Trying to hurt Spencer the way he'd hurt her was only hurting her that much more. She had to figure out a way to prove her point without destroying her own state of mind. Her hands shook as she pressed **Redial**_**.**_

"_Speak, mere mortal. The Goddess of all things Tech is feeling mighty generous."_

"Um…Garcia?"

"_Oh! Atrin! Hi! What can I do for ya, my sweets?"_

"I want you to be honest – wait, you're not working, are you?"

"_Of course I am, but the team no longer needs my services, as they are currently finishing up the case as we speak. What's up?"_

"The team comes back there, right? After every case?"

"_Yep. Always. Well, unless they're in the hospital, which happens more than I like to think about. But they are all accounted for, so no one should be not here after they arrive."_

"Alright. Is there, um, any way you could do me a favour?"

**!:!:!:!**

The heels clacking on the floor alerted everyone later that night that a certain voluptuous bombshell was on her way into the bullpen. Without saying a word, Penelope smiled at Hotch with a friendly wave and latched Spencer Reid's left ear between two long, electric-blue nails. He yelped in surprise – and possibly pain, if Rossi had to guess from his place on the balcony – as the tech analyst dragged him behind her to her lair. The genius sure wasn't smart about it; he continued to pull away from her grasp, his shouts increasing in decibel and volume as she apparently jerked with each time he attempted escape. She could be heard tutting at him even as they rounded the corner.

Spencer rubbed his earlobe vigorously once she'd released him, but then he was thrown off balance when she shoved him into her office. He regained his footing, turned to glare at her, and hollered,

"What the Hell was that for?"

"Shut up, Genius Boy. I will be back in a little while."

Before he could reply, she slammed the door shut behind her, and the sound of the lock sliding into place was more than audible in an otherwise silent room. He groaned and wondered why in any universe she would lock him in her office, with her expensive machinery, alone? Then, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he realised…


	15. Chapter 15

_He wasn't alone._

He spun around to face whoever was in the room with him and damn near fell over in shock. He had no idea as to why she would have been there. How could she have been there? How could she have gotten past security? Unless…

"Garcia."

"Yep. She was more than happy to help me."

"What are you doing here, Atrin?"

"Because I'm tired of this."

"Tired of what?"

"This game. This cat-and-mouse bullshit. This…whatever the Hell you wanna call it. Spencer, you said you wanted to try this. You said it sounded like I was giving up before we even started. Yet, once you realised I'd changed my mind, you're the one who gave up. How is that even fair to me? It's not. No, I need to say this. Please just let me speak. I'm so sick of trying to figure you out. Garcia told me you were a genius. If that's true, then why are you being so damn stupid? Give me one good reason that we shouldn't try now."

"Give me a reason why we should."

Her jaw dropped slightly at his statement, and he resisted the urge to take it back. The hurt in her eyes was evident. He opened his mouth to talk, but she cut him off.

"Because who knows where exactly this could lead. Who knows if you're supposed to be the one I wake up to every morning. The one I'm meant to really marry and raise a little family with. Who knows if you're supposed to grow old with me? No one knows, and we, _we_, will never know unless we try. And I'm sorry, but I don't want to wake up the rest of my life, waking up with the wrong man, wondering 'What if Spencer hadn't been such a dumbass? Where would we be now?' Is that something you really want? Because if so, you're nuts."

"I _don't_ want that! I honestly don't. But…what if we put so much effort and time into this, and it turns out to be nothing?"

"Then we accept the results and move on. At least then we'll _know_. We'll know whether or not we were meant to be. These guessing games get tiring. I'm tired of not knowing."

"Look… Um, why don't you come over later? We can talk somewhere besides Garcia's office."

She nodded once slowly. "Alright."

He watched incredulously as she pulled open the door. Hadn't Garcia locked it?

"Again, Spencer, this goes back to the 'genius yet dumb' thing. She would never have locked me in here and walked away. She unlocked it right after we started talking. You were in too much shock to hear it." She stepped forward toward him. "Call me later, okay? Let me know when it's a good time to come over."

It took Penelope shooing him from her office for him to head home. His mind reeled from everything that had happened; what had started as a (very painful) genius-napping had turned into somewhat of a coup of his judgment by his wife and friend. But the best part, oh, Lord, he still felt those damn butterflies in his stomach at the memory. Sure, there had been Lila and Austin. However, there was no true comparison between them and Atrin. She was…definitely different.

And if that kiss was anything to go by, well, she was being more than sincere in each claim that she wanted to work things out.

* * *

><p><strong>I know this was <em>mainly<em> dialogue (which I've tried to refrain from doing), BUT it was necessary for this chapter I promise, it'll get less...talky and more actiony. (: **


	16. Chapter 16

Spencer had tidied up his apartment, showered, and read at least four books before Atrin called at seven. At seven-fifty, there was a timid knock at his door; he stopped pacing and glanced through the peephole. His elderly neighbour stood there, her fingers gripping the arm of a very familiar, more-his-age female. He hurriedly opened the door.

"Do you know this young woman, Spencer?"

"Yea, I do. Thanks, Mrs Dunmeyer."

"You're very welcome, Spencer. I just didn't want some woman to try to snare you in a trap."

"I appreciate it. Have a wonderful night."

As the woman toddled away, Spencer stifled a laugh, led his guest inside, and shut the door behind them. Atrin rubbed her arm and glared mockingly.

"Not funny! Her fingers are incredibly bony. And for an old woman, damn, she's got a helluva grip."

He smiled. "She means well. She's been an excellent neighbour since I moved in when I was twenty-one."

"So. What's on the agenda for tonight?"

"Well, I was thinking dinner, maybe watch some TV, but we definitely need to talk."

"Are we going out to eat, or…?"

"If you'd like."

The streets were almost deserted as they headed down the block. The trek was silent; he was nervous beyond belief. It was an incredibly odd occurrence, even for him. He'd tried analysing the entire situation, but his genius brain just couldn't wrap itself around everything. However, his emotions were pretty easy to decipher: giddiness, confusion, excitement, anxiousness… It was strange to think that one woman could have such an effect. He smiled to himself and tuned back in to whatever Atrin was saying.

"…It really sucked, ya know? I mean, seriously, how could that have been any more cliché?" She sighed but glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling in the lights of the street lamps. "So, when will you tell me about yourself?"

He held open the door to the restaurant for her. "What would you like to know?"

"I dunno. What caused you to join the FBI, what was your childhood like, stuff like that. "

"I joined because of a man I'd considered my mentor, Jason Gideon. He, um, was doing a lecture, and it just intrigued me. As for my childhood, it…wasn't terrible, I suppose. My dad left when I was younger, and so I haven't seen him in years. My mom used to be a professor; she'd read to me all the time. It was actually the only time I felt like I belonged somewhere." He paused. "Wow, I just realised how odd that sounds. And very disturbing."

"No, it's alright," she laughed softly. "I completely understand. Bullied?"

"Terribly."

"Ew. I'm sorry. Continue."

"Well... I'm not sure what else there is to say."

"What happened to Gideon? What's your job like? How is your mom doing? Stuff like that."

This was it. This was the piece of information that most people, not just romantic partners, could hardly stomach. The grisly truth.

"Gideon left the B.A.U. because a sexual sadist brutally murdered one of his old college friends, in order to get back at Gideon. Which brings me to what my job is like. Um, my teammates and I profile serial killers to hopefully prevent more attacks and bring them to justice. We work crazy hours and are usually gone to different places all over the nation, wherever a serial killer has more than made their presence known, which isn't very healthy for any sort of normal friendship, or even relationship, if you want to get down to the truth, but I like it. I mean, it gives me a sense of reasoning to my life, a sense of belonging. I never really had that, except for, as I said before, when I was listening to my mom read to me."

"That sounds like a…honestly, it sounds like a terribly demanding job."

"It is, but it's worth it, knowing we stop at least one more psychopath."

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way! I meant it has to be demanding, both mentally and physically. I didn't mean that it wasn't worth it. I'm glad _someone_ is out there doing it. I don't think I could stomach it."

He knew she felt abashed for how her words had seemed; he had no doubt she hadn't intended any harm. But, damn it, he was still trying to find reasons to not want to get attached. He smiled across the table at her before glancing down at the menu. Within seconds, he'd decided on his dinner, whereas she was still perusing the options. The overhead lights, though soft and subtle, shone on her hair, gently highlighting the auburn streaks as they fell forward to hang in her above her eyes. He smiled to himself and reached his hand across the table to brush the back of her hand with his fingers. Her skin was warm and smooth; touching people had never been something he particularly enjoyed. There was just something too…_intimate_ about the gesture of any physical contact. Unless he had feelings of any sort for a person, he typically refrained from touching them. But she was different. Much different. And he couldn't quite figure out why.

She glanced up at him and gave him a confused smile. "Are you alright, Spencer?"

"Yea, just thinking."

"About?"

"You. Me. I don't know, exactly. Just how much of a contrast there is between you and my last two ex's."

Immediately, he realised his mistake. Hadn't Morgan said something about mentioning ex-girlfriends while on a date with a current partner? Spencer went to apologise before seeing her grin.

"Well, as long as it's a good different, then I'm alright with that."

"You don't…care that I just compared you to women I _used_ to date?"

"Oh, Spence…there really is a lot you're clueless about, isn't there?"

They were interrupted by the waitress coming to take their orders, and so they waited until she'd walked away to continue their conversation.

"Yea, pretty much."

"We've both been in relationships before. The only times you bringing up an ex is going to bother me are a, you bring up one or the other all the time, b, you start saying I'm worse than them, or c, I'm in an incredibly bad mood already."

He felt his smile cover his face before he could stop it. The conversation was in full swing by the time they'd finished dinner and were on their way back to his apartment. Once inside, they unceremoniously plopped down onto the couch; after a quick debate over whether to watch movies or talk, Atrin won the discussion by stating a movie took less energy to enjoy ("please, no statistics"). So, with that, they faced the television as the DVD started. It wasn't long before he felt the couch shift; his brain stalled momentarily as he noticed that she was closer than before. He forced himself to concentrate on the images on the screen – a hard feat, considering she now had her head resting on his shoulder and her hand in barely brushing against his, as if waiting for permission. He entwined their fingers, and she smiled.

He woke up to her head on his chest as they were both stretched out on the couch; the movie had ended and was on the title menu. He went to get up, but she, however, had other ideas. She tightened her grip on him and snuggled closer. With a satisfied smile, Reid awkwardly pulled the throw off the back of the couch and spread it over the two of them, before closing his eyes and falling back asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds; only the OCs used in this story, the dialogue (with the exception of anything I pull from the show itself), and the plotline (again, with the exception of what's from the show that sets the stage for this). **

**I know; it took me forever to get this up, but I'm proud to say it's now up, and I can breathe happily. I will **_**not**_** be able to update at all tomorrow until sometime in the late afternoon, because I will be babysitting a two- and four-year-olds, along with dealing with my own son. Wish me luck! lol. **

When Atrin awoke, she was alone on the couch, and there was no sound of life in the apartment. She stared around the living room, taking in the sight, before climbing to her feet and padding into the small kitchen. There was a note tacked on the corkboard, amongst other Post-Its. The handwriting, foreign and, to be honest, rather dreadful, was a scribbled mess – as if Spencer had been in a hurry when he'd written it.

_Atrin – sorry, I had to go to work. There's a key to the place on the table if you want to go out or something while I'm gone. I can't tell you exactly how long I'll be gone. I hope it won't be for long. I feel terrible that I had to leave you alone, but…duty calls, right? If you decide to go home, just tell me, alright? I won't be mad. I'll call you later whenever I can! – Spencer._

She had to smile. The fact that he hadn't exactly _wanted_ to leave her behind had to mean something. Placing the piece of paper onto the countertop, she wrapped her arms around her tummy and walked through the apartment. She hadn't had the chance to see how he lived last night, before they'd fallen asleep to the movie. A smile spread across her face as she recalled waking up sometime in the middle of the night, with her head on his chest, his arms keeping her close, the darkness surrounding them; only the street lights outside had gently illuminated the room from filtering between the blinds, as he had emitted soft snores.

She pushed open the door at the end of the hall and stopped in her tracks. This was Spencer's bedroom. One of the pale burnt sienna walls was covered in photographs – in a few of them, Atrin could easily pinpoint Penelope, smiling on the arm of a built, chocolate-skinned man with a to-die-for grin, or with a pair of women, all entwined in each others' arms. With a slight start, she realised Spencer wasn't in any of them; at least, he wasn't, not full-face. There was one in which he appeared to have been turning away right as the shutter had clicked. She grinned before examining the other pictures as if she had a clue as to who any of the subjects were. On the nightstand sat a five-by-seven frame with a snapshot of a slender, pale, older woman. _This must be his mom_, she thought. She wasn't at all surprised by the woman's build – it must be where Spencer had gotten his. The dresser looked like it had been thrown haphazardly between the bookshelf and the wall; the books on the bookshelf, however, were in an extremely neat row. She ran a finger along their spines, trying to read the titles, and laughed quietly when she realised that, instead of being able to pronounce them, she was butchering the attempts to do so.

She pulled her shoes on, grabbed her cell phone, and slid the key into her pocket. After locking the door behind her, she started walking down the hall. A quick, nimble hand snatched her arm and halted her progress. She glanced over and groaned inwardly.

"Hello, Mrs Dunmeyer."

"I don't care if Spencer _does_ know you and trusts you, I will _not_ be taking my eyes off of you. That boy deserves the best."

"I know, ma'am. He told me last night that you're an amazing neighbour. I wouldn't want to cross you."

"No, you wouldn't." The elderly woman released her with an appraising, slightly disapproving, lookover. "I know it's none of my business, but Spencer is like a grandson to me, and I'll be damned if anyone pulls the wool over his eyes."

"I understand. Well, I should be going. It was…nice to see you again, ma'am."

Mrs Dunmeyer's laugh followed Atrin down the hall to the stairs. Once outside, she walked to the car she'd rented for her visit to Quantico and slid inside quickly. The GPS system said the nearest dine-in restaurant was roughly fifteen minutes away. She pulled into a parking spot and shut off the vehicle; the sign inside the door said **Please seat yourself!** So she did just that. The waiter immediately came over with a smile on his face. He handed her a menu and scooted away, promising to return momentarily to take her order. Atrin merely rolled her eyes and grinned to herself. She knew this guy would be getting a larger tip than she normally left. She had a losing streak when it came to getting a server who was even remotely decent. Suddenly, _Bullet with Butterfly Wings_ began playing, and she hurried to answer her phone.

"Hello?"

"_Atrin? It's, uh, it's Spencer."_

"Hey, there. How are you doing today?"

"_I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you woke up._"

"It's alright. Um, how's work?"

"_We got called out on a case."_

Was that disappointment in his voice? She sighed softly and nodded, even though she knew he wouldn't see it. "That's okay. Did you want me to go home?"

"_That's entirely up to you. I'm not sure if there's anything at my place for you to do, so whatever you want to do is fine."_

"I think I might. Did you want me to leave your key somewhere?"

"_No, that's alright. You can keep it with you if you want."_

"You're awfully trusting," commented she, softening the comment with a gentle laugh. "Did Garcia do a background check on me?"

"_Actually, she did."_ There was a muffled conversation before he said directly into the phone, _"I've gotta go. I just thought I'd call while I had a chance."_

"Alright. Be careful, yea?"

"_I'll try."_

Atrin hung up and devoured her breakfast. She placed a ten and a five on the table under her plate, leaving an inch of the bills uncovered for the waiter to find, and went to the podium to pay. She had an idea of where to go before she headed home.

**::::**

"Well, well, look who's here!"

"Hello, my favourite goddess. How are you?"

Penelope grinned widely and motioned towards the only other chair in the room. "I would be better if I wasn't missing my babies so much."

"This team really is your family, isn't it?"

"Hells yes! Especially your hubby. Ah! You're _blushing_!"

"It's still weird to hear that."

"Hang on. Speak to me, my little darlings."

Atrin scrawled _Going to vending machines. Be back in a jif _on a Post-It® pad. The only reaction she got that Garcia had read the note was a quick nod of her head. The corridors were empty, save for a woman, judging by the clacking of heels against the linoleum, heading closer around the corner. She came face to face with a blonde-haired woman in her early fifties, dressed in a neutral business dress, who dropped the file she held in her hands.

"Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry! Here; let me help you."

The woman jerked the file away once all the papers were restored. "Who are you, and _what_ are you doing in the FBI building?"

"I, um…"

"She's an intern, ma'am. We didn't know SSA Hotchner and the team had been called out on a case."

"Mr Lynch, might I remind you that you are _not_ in this division?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm aware, but I was coming into the building anyway, so I figured I could show her where to go."

"Well, since Agent Hotchner is not in the building, I suggest you leave, and he'll call you upon his return to Quantico."

Atrin meekly nodded beneath the woman's eagle-eye stare and held her breath until she had passed. She glanced over at the man who had saved her.

"Thank you, so much, Mr Lynch."

"Kevin."

"Atrin."

"So why _are_ you here? Because if I'm right, the BAU doesn't have any interns."

"No. I came to visit Garcia, but I'm gonna go now, before…whoever that was comes back."

"That was Chief Strauss. She's not too bad, on her good days, anyway."

"Alright. Thank you, again, Kevin. I appreciate it. I didn't wanna be led out in handcuffs."

He smiled, and they said their goodbyes. She breathed a sigh of relief once she was outside on the sidewalk, pulled her phone from her bag, and dialled. It went straight to voicemail, and so she left a quick message, telling Penelope what had happened. With that, she got into her car and started it up. The building quickly disappeared behind her as she headed toward Boston.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**_

This was written mainly for the ones who reviewed and were more than eager for the next chapter: **Sue1313, jessie 33, MaraLovesPeanutButter, KeepCalmandKissDrSpencerReid, Unsocialite, The Amber Raven, and all the others that I missed! **Thank you, guys, for staying with me and being patient while I got things in order. I'm so sorry for the wait, and I can't wait for your reaction to this chapter! (:

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><p>Spencer hung up and followed Morgan into the police station. Hotch glanced up as the two agents finally entered. With a quick apology, the genius headed to the map pinned to the wall to begin a geographical profile. The background noise disappeared as he worked.<p>

"So what took you so long, Spence?"

He shrugged. "Had to make a phone call."

JJ merely gave him a quizzical look but was forced to let the subject drop when a detective poked his head into the room and told her two of the victims' families had arrived. She left Reid to himself, and he continued reading over the files of the victims and missing persons matching the physical descriptions.

"Psst, Einstein, Jr." Garcia laughed after he visibly jumped. "You, dear, need to lay off the coffee. It's frazzling your nerves. Anyway, before you tell me to tell you what it is that I found, and I'm pretty sure I found something, and by something, I have a hunch it's not _just_ 'something' –"

"Garcia. And you say _I _need to lay off the coffee."

"Sorry. Um. Right. I dug a little deeper into the family tree and all the legalities of all of our poor vics. Melodie Renalds was about to inherit almost a quarter-mil from her great-uncle upon his death. Jennifer Crowly was on the verge of getting, uh, eighty-thousand once her grandfather died."

"And Kevin Hope?"

"See, his was the only difference he actually had received forty k from his mother's death two days before his murder. His bank account was drained yesterday, before his fiancée, who was acting as power of attorney, froze it. I'm currently trying to trace where it all went." She paused. "I told you I found something. Was I right, or was I right?"

"I think you might have been right."

"I knew I was a goddess."

He laughed as he disconnected the video chat. Prentiss and Morgan sighed in unison as they slumped through the door. Both were wearing identical aggravated expressions. Apparently, the crime scene hadn't given any clues; this thought was easily confirmed by their announcement of "This guy is good." Spencer relayed what Penelope had said. He had to repeat it again when Hotch joined them. The Unit Chief immediately called the technical analyst on the phone.

"_Speak, my minions."_

"Garcia, I need you to do something for me."

**::::**

Five hours later, the team was taking a break for the night. Morgan and Reid ended up alone in the elevator to the hotel rooms. The older of the two stuck his hands in his pockets nonchalantly and grinned.

"How's the wife?"

"I was wondering when you'd say something about her. Her name is Atrin, by the way. She came over last night."

"Oh? Did she _stay_ the night?"

"Nothing happened."

"I know. I was just wondering."

"Why?"

"Just because. Man, relax. It's not like I was judging."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just…I don't know."

"It's alright. We'll talk more once we catch this guy and go home."

Derek plopped down on the edge of his bed and pulled off his shoes. Spencer lay down on his own mattress, staring at the ceiling, even as his roommate switched off the bedside lamps. His thoughts raced, from both the case and his personal life. It had felt beyond odd to leave a note for someone else this morning; he was too used to just rushing out the door without needing to let someone know where he was gone. Unlike when he was a child, this time had been more of a personal reassurance. His mother had made it mandatory to give her knowledge of where he was at all times – her illness left him with no choice. He hadn't even been sure this morning, if she'd even bother reading it; knowing she had taken the time to explore his apartment caused fluttering in his stomach that he'd never really experienced before. Well, he had with Lila. Suddenly, he wondered how Lila was doing. He'd heard she'd become involved in a serious relationship, but he hadn't talked to her in almost a year. Maybe he'd call her once he got home. Should he request a chance to catch up? Memories of their time spent together, both on the case that revolved around her and even more outside of that time, floated in his head, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia.

In the midst of seeing Lila's stunning smile and long, blonde hair, Atrin's equally beautiful grin popped into his mind. He still felt terrible for having left her. But she'd looked so peaceful sleeping; he hadn't wanted to disturb her. He sighed and rolled onto his side.

_**Bzzz. **_

He saw **Garcia** on the display and immediately opened it.

_**Your girl was here today.**_

_**Really? **_

_**Who are you bunking with tonight? **_

_**Morgan**_.

Within twenty seconds of the SENT message on the screen, he had an incoming call from Penelope.

"Hi, Garcia."

"_Yes, my favourite little genius, your wife was here. But then she suddenly left. I have no idea what happened, but anyway. I digress. I really do approve of her; you know that, right?"_

"Yea, I do. Thanks. It means a lot."

"_Any time. So what did you guys do on your date last night?"_

"We just went out to dinner and then went back to my apartment and watched a movie."

"_Aw, you're growing up so fast!"_

"Shut up, Garcie," laughed Reid quietly. "Um, is it bad that I was thinking of Lila earlier?"

"_No, definitely not. I mean, she was, like, your first _serious_ relationship, right? So of course, you'll feel a little spark for her still. All that matters is that you're not willing to destroy what you have with Atrin over a past flame with Lila that's gone out."_

Spencer hung up after another twenty minutes with the excuse of needing to sleep. Instead of drifting off, however, he opened a text message and typed out "Are you still awake?"

_**Yes, I am. (: I see that you are, too.**_

_**Yea. Can't sleep. Just got off the phone with Garcia. Why'd you leave from the BAU so fast earlier?**_

_**Chief Strauss or whatever her name was pretty much made it clear I wasn't allowed in there. How do you deal with her?**_

_**She's not too bad…for the most part. Once you get used to her attitude. Well, I just wanted to say goodnight and sweet dreams.**_

_**Goodnight, hun. (: Text or call me tomorrow. **_

He set his phone on the nightstand and burrowed himself deeper into his blankets. His mind was finally at ease; the only thing he could do from this point on was sleep, help catch the Unsub, and head home to see the woman he'd married.


	19. Chapter 19

Alright, so. This only took forever, but here it is! (: I actually had most of this written out already, but it was hidden somewhere in the depths of my writing folder, so it took some searching. But I found it, I posted it, and I hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

><p>Atrin sighed and pushed away from the desk. She had four clients to meet with for her first multiple-couple wedding in her career. 'Nervous' wasn't strong enough of a word to even <em>begin<em> to describe how she felt in regards to such an enormous task. The brides-to-be had been friends since birth, all born in the same month, and so they wanted to celebrate the happiest days of their lives together. As Amy had informed her, this had definitely had its downfalls: Lillian, Jenny, and she had all been forced to wait for the fourth woman, Michelle, to find the man of her dreams in order for this decade-old arrangement to take place. Thankfully, the future grooms had understood and agreed to the plans.

After packing her planner and notebook into her messenger bag, Atrin slid into the driver's seat of her car to meet the women at the park, where the wedding was to occur. She joined them in the shaded gazebo with a smile on her face. They had proven, so far, to be very cooperative and easy-to-please clients. The friends had apparently been planning their joined ceremony for longer than Atrin had been hired. Jenny gave her a hug once she arrived.

"Isn't this place just beautiful?"

"Yes, it really is. I've already talked to city officials about reserving the park, so all we need to do is finish the planning and enjoy the big day."

Amy and Michelle slid over on the picnic bench to allow Atrin to sit. She opened her notebook and began going over the details. Almost an hour and a half passed before her cell phone rang; she quickly excused herself and pressed **Talk**.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, sugarplum. Just popping in to make sure you're alright and to see if you wanted to come over this weekend._"

"Yes, I'm doing wonderfully, and I'll have to check tonight after work to see if I'm free."

"_Oh! Sorry. Enjoy work, and I will talk to you tonight, buttercup!_"

Atrin laughed. "Alright, bye, Garcia."

The rest of the day passed easily between taking notes over the women's wedding wishes and relishing the warm sunshine. Her good mood lasted throughout the traffic jam on the drive home, the evening news, and even the phone call to her mother who was unhappy with the lack of contact with her daughter. Atrin hung up after two hours claiming a dying phone battery, and put her dirty laundry in the washer. Mistie was still at work, which suited Atrin just fine.

"Hello?"

"_You don't seem too happy to hear from me._"

"Oh, no! Sorry, hun. It's just that I just got off the phone with my mom. She isn't exactly the best conversationalist known to man."

"_You don't get along with her?_"

"No, I do. It's just always awkward on the phone, because neither of us ever seems to know what to say to each other. So to what do I owe this pleasant surprise of a phone call?"

"_I just missed you today."_

Atrin grinned and settled into the couch. The conversation transitioned from work to new movies that looked interesting, from books to their childhoods. She hadn't realised just how much she'd missed hearing Spencer's voice until he called.

A deep voice in the background broke into Spencer's animated depiction of Star Trek, and he fell silent for a moment.

"_Oh, sorry, Morgan. Um, I've gotta go. Apparently, I'm keeping a grumpy profile awake._"

"Alright. I'll talk to you later."

Atrin wrote a quick note for Mistie on the dry-erase board hanging on the wall and went to bed, still smiling.

* * *

><p><strong>!:!:!:!<strong>

Spencer grinned sheepishly at Derek. "I really am sorry."

"Who was so important that you woke me up out of a deep sleep? They better have been _really_ important, Pretty Boy, or I'm gonna get real ugly."

"That was Atrin. I'm really sorry, Morgan. I didn't realise I was talking so loud."

"Atrin? As in your wife?"

"Yea. I try to call or text her every day."

"How's that going anyway?"

"Really well, which is slightly surprising. Do you know the statistics of an impromptu, drunken marriage actually working out?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure the odds aren't very high."

"Not at all. I'll spare you the details, though."

"Do you think you'll get married for real?" Morgan asked after a momentary pause.

Spencer clambered onto his bed and pulled the duvet over his shoulders. "Is it wrong of me to hope we do?"

"Not at all, Pretty Boy," laughed the elder profiler. "See you in the morning."

"Night."

The case the team had been working on ended in a hostage situation before the Unsub had been shot in the head and killed. They were subdued on the flight home; none of them wanted to speak for fear of memories of the hellish week being voiced. They'd seen their fair amount of gruesome cases, but some, much like this last one, took its toll on them. Once the jet landed, all headed to the office to fill out the required preliminary report. Spencer finished quickly and sped from the bullpen. He needed a hot shower, real food, and a good night's sleep in his own bed. His cell phone beeped just as he stepped into his apartment.

**You make it home alright?**

He smiled and typed back, _Yes, Garcie. I am at home, getting ready to clean up and go to bed._ Now finished, he plugged his phone in on its charger and headed toward the bathroom. The paint was beginning to peel in some places, and the tile floors had been in use since he'd moved in almost eight years ago. He sighed, stripped to his skin, and stepped under the water. Once clean, he dressed in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a T-shirt; the quiet of his apartment was slightly overwhelming as he ate a sandwich and an apple. He quickly tidied up the kitchen, heading to his bedroom. He found himself, lying there in the dark, thinking about Atrin.

* * *

><p><strong>!:!:!:!<strong>

She zipped up her duffel bag and slipped her feet into the old worn-out tennis shoes by the front door. Mistie had come home some time during the early morning hours; Atrin smiled to herself. She would be heading to Quantico after work, and she was strangely excited. Her mother had warned her throughout her entire life, from the time Atrin could understand words, that the world was full of dark actions, evil intentions, and people who were full of both. She'd carried this warning in every corner of her mind ever since. She'd always been wary of people she'd just met – it had taken Mistie four years for Atrin to cave in to the idea of living together; she'd had no need for worry. Mistie was one of the most normal, albeit eccentric, people Atrin had ever known.

She quickly left a note for her best friend and left the apartment, locking the door behind her. Atrin walked quickly to the bus stop. Though the plans for the four-pair wedding were going smoother than she could have hoped, all she really wanted was for the day to be over. She couldn't even begin to imagine what a weekend spent with Garcia held in store.

She finally closed up her shop around four that afternoon. Only two weeks remained until the nuptials, but everything was already planned out and nearly ready. This appointment with the brides was to be the last until the day before the ceremony.

Atrin checked her GPS once more and glanced up at the apartment complex ahead of her. She'd made it with minimal issue – unless traffic jams and bad road rage counted as 'major issues.' Out the front door and down the steps came a certain Penelope Garcia. Atrin grinned and stepped out of the car.

"Oh, you made it!"

"Yep! So this is where you live, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am. Come, come."

She followed the curvy blonde up two flights of stairs. Once inside, Atrin's jaw dropped. The walls were a vivid lilac with lavender trim. Pictures hung in almost every bit of available space, whether of people or scenery not mattering. A curtain of beads hung in a doorway; Atrin could see the room beyond was the bedroom. Penelope smiled widely once Atrin was done looking around.

"Like it?"

"Very…colourful."

"I like to keep things bright. It helps me remind me that, regardless of my job, that _is_ beauty in this world."

"So what exactly do you do?"

"I dive into any paper trails of victims and Unsubs involved in our cases. It gets really icky, though. It isn't glamorous, that's for sure."

"I bet. Spencer told me the basics of his job. I couldn't do it."

"So…how are you and my little genius?"

"Really well," Atrin replied, smiling widely as she sat down on the sofa. "I'm glad I gave this a chance."

"I'm sure he is, too."

"Isn't the team out on a case?"

"Nope, not yet. They're on stand-down, which means I don't have to worry about them."

"Do you think I'll meet them?"

"If Reid doesn't arrange it, then I will!"

Atrin laughed and relaxed against the couch cushion. The remainder of the day passed by relatively fast; before she knew it, she was being forced to change from her slacks and blouse into a pair of snug jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. The tech analyst gave an inelegant snort at the sight of Atrin's shoes and handed her a pair of heeled ankle boots, stating that beat-up sneakers would depreciate the value of a simple outfit. Atrin couldn't help herself; she had to laugh at Pen's enthusiasm, even if it was a bit over the top. She followed her new friend down the stairs and out to a beautiful older car.

The two women stepped inside the club and immediately headed toward the bar. Once they'd ordered their drinks, they found a small table; Atrin grinned and leaned closer to Penelope to be heard over the music.

"So why'd we come out tonight?"

"_That_ is why we came out tonight."

Atrin glanced over her shoulder at the door, and her jaw dropped within seconds.


	20. Chapter 20

**DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Goodness, this took forever to get out, and for that, I apologize. Things have been just...so incredibly insanely hectic. I know that's not exactly a reason - more like an excuse, but it'll have to do. I hope you enjoyed this. As I've stated on my profile, I will be moving a lot of my stuff (if not all) to The Writer's Coffee Shop - just search for michi1207 on there, and you'll find me!**

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><p><em>"So why'd we come out tonight?"<em>

_"_That_ is why we came out tonight."_

_Atrin glanced over her shoulder at the door, and her jaw dropped within seconds._

"Garcia! Did you tell him to meet us here?"

"Of course! Hey, guys! My sweet chocolate god, meet Atrin. Atrin, this is my main man, Derek Morgan."

"Hey, it's nice to finally put a face to the name." The smiling black man held out a hand which Atrin shook. "Pretty Boy here is a fan of talking about you."

Spencer blushed. "Derek, come on, man. Ignore him, please."

With a quick grin at Atrin, Garcia pulled Derek out onto the dance floor. Spencer sat in the now-vacant seat and smiled. Atrin rolled her eyes are her new friend's moves.

"Please tell me they're dating," she implored, and Spencer laughed.

"Nope. They've been like that since Garcia joined the Bureau, though."

"And they've never made the decision to, ya know, date?"

"Apparently not."

"Crazy."

"Yea, pretty much."

She smiled across the table. "Would you wanna dance?"

"Um, I...well...I don't know how to dance."

"Then I'll teach you."

Spencer hadn't been lying- his skills the dance floor were, in a word, atrocious. But she had fun anyway. Watching Spencer's face split with that beautiful grin of his was more than enough to make her heart melt. Suddenly, he pulled away from her and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Atrin could see pure disappointment on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"I've got to go," he replied, leaning in close enough for her to hear over the music. "Got another case."

"Oh. That's...that's fine. Go - the world needs you."

"Come on, lovebirds. Time to go."

"But Penelope..."

"That includes you, too. Now let's get a move on."

Atrin climbed into the passenger seat of Garcia's car and watched the scenery pass by. She'd been to the BAU once before - and remembered that visit well - but hopefully, this time, Director Strauss wouldn't be there to force her to leave. She was highly intrigued about the jobs of her newfound friends.

**!.!.!.!**

"Damn, Pretty Boy, she is _fine_."

"Thanks, Morgan. She's amazing."

"I can definitely see why you fell for her."

"Trust me - I'm still falling for her. Every time we talk, I can't help myself."

"Well, I hope everything works out for you guys."

Before Spencer could answer, they pulled into the parking garage alongside Penelope and Atrin, and the guys followed the women into the building. Spencer stopped Atrin before she could be led to Garcia's "lair."

"Tell everyone I'll be there in a moment. I'll take her."

"Oh, alright. See ya in a minute, Peaches."

He could see puzzlement on her face even as she trailed behind him. Once outside the tech analyst's office door, he face her. His wife.

"Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun."

"So did I. I'm glad you and Derek showed up."

Seeing her smile and her brown eyes sparkling caused all rational thoughts to flee his mind; Spencer leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. He pulled away much too soon for his liking, brushed a strand of dark brown hair from her face, and walked towards the bullpen.

Everybody glanced up from the files in front of them when he entered the conference room. He grinned sheepishly and mumbled "Bathroom." Garcia flashed him a knowing look but kept quiet as JJ explained the case.

**!.!.!.!**

Atrin's lips still burned pleasantly from the tender kiss. It had taken her aback, but - if she were to be honest - she'd been hoping that he'd do just that. And, if she were to admit it to herself, she didn't have the courage to make the first move. Oh, how soft his lips had been... Please, let there be more of that, she thought to herself.

The door opening jarred her from her internal reverie. She looked up to see Garcia entering with a smile on her face. Without a word, she walked to the wall of computer monitors, tapped a few keys on the multiple keyboards, and waited as the screens came to life.

"You'll have to tell me the details later, gumdrop. For now, I have to help stop a sadistic psycho-bitch."

A little more than five hours later, Atrin was hunched over the toilet in the women's restroom, dry-heaving. Her body had already forcibly ejected the dinner she had eaten earlier in the evening with Penelope. Finally, the convulsions in her stomach ceased, and she staggered to her feet and toward the sink to rinse out her mouth. She splashed cold water on her cheeks, hoping to rid her flesh of the paleness vomiting had induced. Though Spencer had warned her about the gruesome aspect of his job, she hadn't expected such a violent reaction from herself to seeing it. She thought she'd be prepared due to her fascination with horror-gore films. She wasn't. Not by a long shot. The images on Garcia's computer screens were the same as the ones Atrin saw in the movies - but so much worse. She knew the photos were of real people who'd suffered a very real, very terrible, very painful death.

Atrin closed her eyes but rapidly opened them to rid herself of the images that were now imprinted in her mind. She took a deep, steadying breath before exiting the bathroom. Garcia gave her a sympathetic glance but finished the conversation with whoever was on the phone.

"Got it. The tech Goddess shall find the information you so seek." With a quick jab at the phone console, she turned toward her visitor. "You alright, gumdrop?"

"How...how the Hell do you do this every damn day?"

"I'm not gonna lie and say it gets easier, because it doesn't. It really, really doesn't. But knowing that what I do, what the team does, makes things like nightmares worth it. If we can save more lives, I'm not going to complain about losing sleep."

Atrin nodded slowly. "You guys are a helluva lot tougher than I am."

**!.!.!.!**

Spencer had barely opened Garcia's office door when he was assaulted by a body launching directly into his midsection. A pair of arms snaked their way around his waist. He quickly looked down to see Atrin burying her face in his chest.

"Whoa, what's going on?"

"I'm so glad you're back," was the muffled response, and he cast a quizzical glance to Penelope. She merely pointed to the computer. He immediately knew.

"Shh, it's alright. Come on, let's get away from here."

Atrin nodded, waved goodbye to Garcia, and followed a secretly-pleased Spencer. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him to be needed or missed - so now that he felt that way, he wasn't sure he wanted to ever give it up.

"Come on, it won't be that bad!" Spencer laughed as Atrin bit her lip.

She had spent the entirety of the car ride protesting the day's events. Since it was her last day in Quantico, she'd figured she and Spencer would spend the day together, alone - and she'd made sure he knew that. He couldn't help the bubble of pure elation in his chest when he'd heard her say that. A smile split his face, and he tugged gently on her hand. With a defeated sigh, she followed him to the door of the two-story house.

"We're here!"

Garcia and Morgan joined them in the entry hall after Spencer's announcement. The blonde immediately dragged Atrin away from the men and out of the room. Morgan clapped Reid on the shoulder, leading him to the backyard where Hotch stood at the grill and Henry and Jack played on the jungle gym. Spencer instinctively searched for his wife. Wife. That word still managed to make his heart skip a beat. There she was, with JJ, Emily, and Garcia. She wore a timid smile as the other women began to feel her out, see what she was like. He didn't need to hear the conversation to know - Emily and JJ's body language told all.

Hotch followed Reid's gaze. "Who is she?"

"Um, that's Atrin."

"How do you know her?"

"Yea, Reid, how _do_ you know her?" asked Emily once the group of females had joined the males.

"Well...we met when I went to Vegas."

The women seemed satisfied with this answer, and Atrin grinned widely at Spencer as she went into the house with the XX-chromosome part of the team.

"So what's the whole story, Reid?"

And that one question from his boss caused Spencer to tell everything that had happened since his vacation. Morgan listened quietly, taking occasional swigs of his beer every few minutes.

"Well, I have to say, she seems like a really good match for you. I don't think I've ever seen you this happy. Tell me one thing: Do you want this to work?"

"I do. With all of my heart."

**!.!.!.!**

JJ leaned against the counter as Penelope washed the heads of lettuce and carrots for the salad. Emily took a sip of her drink before shooting a huge smile in Atrin's direction.

"So...what's the whole story? Because there's definitely something deeper than just dating going on between you two."

And so Atrin told them everything, including her initial doubts. Though she didn't know these women very well, there was something about them that just screamed for her to trust them. JJ's eyebrows had disappeared into her hair by the time Atrin finished talking, and Emily's jaw was practically on the floor. Only Garcia seemed remotely unsurprised by the story, but then again, she'd been there for the both of them through almost the entire ordeal. The media liaison finally cleared her throat.

"Well, it seems like you and Spence are happy."

"Oh, I am. I'm happier than I have ever been, actually. I definitely wouldn't complain if he decided to continue making this work."

All four women shared a smile as the men and children joined them in the kitchen, and Atrin felt as if she'd made yet another connection in a new chapter of her life.


End file.
